


The First Snow

by Persuade_me



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, F/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:22:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29357934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persuade_me/pseuds/Persuade_me
Summary: He might be a soft, southron boy, but he'd follow her anywhere. Even in the middle of the freezing night.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 48
Kudos: 133





	The First Snow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flemoncake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flemoncake/gifts).



> Happy Valentine's Day to flemoncake! I hope you like it!

_“Gendry, wake up.”_

Arya’s whisper tickled against his ear, breath buzzing on his skin like an insistent gnat. His hand instinctively swatted at her, waving away the intrusion, mumbling something unintelligible as he rolled over and buried his face in his pillow.

“C’mon, stupid,” she said softly, shaking his shoulder gently. “You need to get up.”

“G’way,” he grumbled at her. “Sleep.”

“No sleep. Wake.” There was a quiet click and a soft glow lit up the room.

Gendry lifted his head and squinted at the clock on the dresser. “Fucks sake, Arya,” he groaned. “It’s three in the morning.”

She leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead. “I know. Sorry, but I promise it’s worth it.”

He scowled at her and pulled the covers over his head, muttering to himself and knowing that it wasn’t going to do any good. 

As expected, he was hit with a rush of cool air as Arya yanked the blanket off him. “C’mon, grumpy pants,” she chided as she climbed on top of him, draping herself across his back and planting wet, sloppy kisses on the side of his face as he yelped in protest. “I’ll make it up to you later.” 

“Ugh. _Fine,”_ he said, giving in and pushing himself up, rolling Arya off his back and onto the bed beside him where she propped herself up on her elbow to watch him. “Why do I need to get up at three in the godsdamn morning?”

“You’ll see,” she said, grinning broadly. “Dress warm, though. Can’t go outside the way you are now.” She gestured to his crotch. “Don’t think you want frostbite on that.”

Gendry moved, crawling over top of her and mirroring the wet sloppy kisses she’d given him as she squirmed beneath him. “Don’t think you want frostbite on it either, love,” he teased, humping against her exaggeratedly. “You love it too much.”

“Dumbass,” she said affectionately, reaching around to slap his ass as he gave her one last kiss before pulling himself up and off the bed. 

“Hey, you’re the one dating the dumbass,” he shot back. “What’s that say about you?”

Arya rolled her eyes, but sat up and pulled him back down for a kiss. “Hat, gloves, scarf,” she said firmly. “Don’t want my soft, southron boy freezing to death.”

***

“Close your eyes.” 

Gendry looked up from where he was standing at the bottom of Winterfell’s grand staircase fixing his scarf and stared at where Arya was watching him expectantly, hand resting on the front doorknob. “What? Why?” 

“Because it’s a surprise, stupid,” she said. “Do I need to blindfold you?”

A lopsided grin crossed his face, and he waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively. 

“Not that kind of surprise,” she sighed in exasperation before smirking at him. “But we can get it out later if you want. Now get over here.”

He crossed the large foyer, holding out his gloved hand for her to take. “Lead the way, m’lady,” he said, closing his eyes firmly and waiting for whatever it was Arya had dragged him out of their nice warm bed for.

He heard the rush of wind slipping through the open door half a second before it hit him in the face, and he shivered, swearing loudly at the stinging cold. Arya had tried to prepare him, tried to explain the bite of cold, the harsh slap of the northern wind, but it had been for naught. Nothing had prepared him for just how thoroughly the cold had settled into his bones the moment they got off the plane. 

He loved Arya. Loved her more than anything. Would do anything for her. Follow her anywhere. But he’d never been more grateful that the flat they shared in the Stormlands was far, far, far south of the perpetually cool North. Even now, just midway through fall, the temperatures were nearly as low as he’d ever experienced, and he was finding it hard to adjust.

They’d only been in Winterfell a few days, flying up so Gendry could meet the Starks properly, officially as her longterm boyfriend. He’d met Ned years ago in King’s Landing, before he’d even met Arya actually, and they’d had dinner with him a few times over the years when he’d flown down to visit, but those had always been solo trips, Catelyn choosing to remain behind. Jon had spent a week at their flat the previous year, but he was the only one who had ever made the trip that far south to visit. It had just made sense for Arya to be the one to travel to them, and now, after three years _officially_ together, Gendry had joined her for the first time. 

And he was fucking freezing. 

“Careful now.” Her hands were grasping his, gently tugging him through the front door and out onto the wide covered stone porch of Winterfell Manor. His boot caught briefly on the door frame, but Arya was there to steady him, leading him forward a few steps more before stopping.

The frigid air felt crisp and fresh on his face, and he could hear the wind rustling through the trees. But underneath there was another sound he couldn’t place, a faint crackling, like a dying fire or the wings of a thousand insects. It was a sound he was unfamiliar with. 

His head cocked to the side, listening intently. “What is that?” he asked, his curiosity rising.

“Open your eyes.” 

Obediently, he did as she bid, immediately inhaling sharply at the sight in front of him.

Fat white flakes filled the sky, swirling past him on the wind, landing softly on the already covered ground. Light from the full moon shone brightly, amplified by the reflection against the snow, illuminating the space around them so that it seemed nearly day. The vast expanse of lawn was blanketed with white and dotted with little swells of snow, the only evidence of the immaculate landscaping beneath. The trees were heavy with weighed down branches, and it was like nothing he’d ever seen before. He blinked rapidly, eyes wide as his head swiveled, trying to take it all in at once. 

Once, when he was around six, King’s Landing got a light dusting of snow overnight that had lasted precisely one hour after he’d woken up. It hadn’t been enough to do anything, but for young Gendry it had been magical. Briefly covering the rundown cars and worn buildings of Flea Bottom, hiding the cracks and smoothing them over into something as clean and beautiful as the gleaming white stone of the building where his father lived. 

The morning’s walk through the streets, hand clasped firmly in his mother’s as he gazed open mouthed at the wonder of it all remained one of his sharpest memories of her. How she’d bundled him up in his secondhand coat and one of her wonky, handmade hats pulled down low over his ears. How she’d kissed him on his frozen nose and promised to warm him up with a mug of hot chocolate. How she’d turned the scant time before it melted away into one of the most enchanting hours of his young life. It was a painfully sweet memory, turning his only experience with snow almost mythical in remembrance. 

“Well?” Arya’s voice cut through his reminiscing, and he looked down to see her smiling softly up at him, delight in her eyes as she watched him. “Am I forgiven?”

His lips curved up, and he pulled her close for a kiss. “Absolutely,” he said firmly. “This is- this is-” He stopped and looked out again at the swirling white before him, lost for words.

“I know,” she said, grabbing his hand again and pulling him down the front steps to the stone walk, where he was immediately assaulted by the falling snow. “It’s pretty magical, isn’t it?” She tucked her hand through his arm and steered him to the path that led to the Stark godswood on the edge of the estate, feet crunching as they walked. “I used to do this when I was a kid. First snow of the season, I’d sneak out in the middle of the night. Wander through the godswood until my toes were numb. I always thought I was so stealthy, but whenever I came back in, my dad would be in the kitchen with a blanket and hot chocolate waiting for me.” She let out a quiet huff of laughter. “He’ll probably be there when we get back.”

“Good. I’m gonna need it.” Gendry shivered again, and she stopped, stepping in front of him, a look of amusement on her face as she adjusted his scarf and hat, leaving only his eyes exposed to the cold. 

“Soft, southron boy,” she said affectionately as she tugged on his hat. “Promise I’ll warm you up properly later.”

Fat clumps of snow settled in her hair, clinging for a moment before melting away, making her look like some kind of winter goddess, cheeks pink with cold and eyes bright with a love that always took his breath away. Gendry raised his gloved hand, brushing away some of the flakes from her hair before cupping her cheek and leaning down to press his forehead against hers. 

“Love you,” he murmured, his voice muffled by the thick scarf, but he knew she’d heard when she pulled down the edge of his scarf to kiss the tip of his nose before raising it back up again. Tucking her arm back through his, she smiled up at him and nodded wordlessly to the path in front of them. 

They walked silently towards the godswood, arm in arm, content to take in the quiet wonder of the falling snow. Gendry glanced periodically over at her as they walked, smitten at the look of peace on her face, at the way her free hand reached out to catch the flakes as they drifted down, the way her nose scrunched up in delight when she caught them on her tongue. 

He’d always found her beautiful, but something about this, about her face, wreathed in moonlight and glowing with happiness, struck him nearly dumb with how radiant she was, how much he loved her, how very blessed he was to have her in his life. 

Arya glanced up at him, eyes narrowing as she gazed up at him. “What?” she asked, her head tilting in question.

Gendry shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “I just like your face.”

She flashed him an affectionate grin. “I like your face too.” 

They had reached the edge of the godswood, the large stone wall separating it from the rest of the Winterfell grounds looming in front of them. Arya dropped his arm and moved forward, unlatching the heavy iron gate and gesturing for him to follow. 

“I want you to see the heart tree,” she said, pulling him past the tall, silent evergreens and into a clearing. Off to the side, he could see the hot springs she’d told him so much about, steam rising from the surface, turning to mist and swallowing the falling snow. In the middle, surrounded by a blanket of white, stood the heart tree. The solemn, foreboding face watching silently over its domain. 

There was a sense of ancient reverence in the air. Gendry knew those who followed the old gods considered these trees sacred, and he could see why. He dropped Arya’s hand and walked slowly up to brush his hand against the tree, running his fingers over the deep red leaves, clearing away the snow and marveling at just how _old_ it must be, at everything the unseeing eyes carved in the bark must have seen.

He felt Arya’s presence beside him, and he turned to look at her, tugging down his scarf and leaning in for a quick kiss. “Thank you for showing me,” he said, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her into his side

“You’re welcome,” she said softly before lapsing into silence again. After a moment she nodded at the tree and said, “this is where my parents married, you know. Traditional northern weddings take place in front of heart trees.”

Gendry’s heart sped up slightly as he gazed down at her, a vision of her in white standing before him flashing through his mind. They’d discussed it. Marriage. It was something they both wanted, but it was still a hypothetical at this point. “Is that so?” he asked, his mouth quirking up.

“It is,” she said, returning his half smile. “Vows taken in front of a heart tree are sacred, because you cannot lie in front of one. The old gods are watching.”

He turned back to look at the tree again, at the face watching them, feeling the weight of its stare, of the millennia of history witnessed here, of the importance this place meant to her.

He shifted back to face her, eyes serious as they locked with hers. “I’m yours, you know,” he said softly, “and I always will be.”

She smiled up at him so sweetly that he simply had to lean down for another kiss. He felt her arms move to encircle his neck, and then half a second later, the shock of cold as the snow in her hand slipped down the back of his coat. “Arya!” he yelled, reaching out to grab her, but she was already moving. 

Arya’s laughter rang through the still night air as she ran, eyes flashing in challenge as she looked back. Gendry sputtered indignantly, leaned down to gather a handful of snow, and took off after her. 

He was fast, but she was faster. She ducked behind trees, tossing snowballs with frightening accuracy and cackling at the look of betrayal on his face every time she slipped out of his grasp. Within minutes, he was breathless and laughing with her as he chased her through the snow. 

When she finally let him catch her in front of the heart tree, he wrapped his arms around her tightly, pulling her to the ground and rolling on top of her before kissing her soundly, the cold completely forgotten. 

As he lost himself in the feel of her lips on his, his mind drifted back to their room, to the small box buried at the bottom of his suitcase, to the question he now knew exactly where he was going to ask her, and he vowed silently, hoping the old gods could hear him, that he’d never let her go. 


End file.
